by G Lawrence
“I will do all that You ask of me,” I whispered. “If only You grant me a son. Please, Almighty Father, hear my prayers. Turn my husband from sin. Return him to me.”
I had no doubt this child was Henry’s; another sister for Elizabeth and Mary, another bastard born… another sign that he cared nothing for our love.
Bitterly, I spoke of Henry to my friend Elizabeth Browne. “The King is fickle and inconstant,” I said.
“But, Majesty,” she whispered. “Surely you find satisfaction in his love? Men stray. They are weak to the wiles of women. But that does not hold there is no satisfaction in marriage.”
I snorted. “The King has neither skill nor strength enough to satisfy a woman.”
Elizabeth laughed, but told me I should have a care. I did not. In anger and hurt, I repeated my accusation, and it spread quietly about court. People sniggered at Henry behind his back. He knew nothing of it then, but all his men were laughing at him because of me. That helped my wounded pride, but in the end it would do me no good.
I was a fool. Henry was my only protection, and the Court of England was a gabbling mouth. It passed on all it heard, and embellished whatever was said.
*
As June drew to a close, two things happened. The first was that Henry released Katherine’s longest-standing servant, Francisco Felipez, from her service. The second was that my brother returned home again.
Felipez had been found carrying secret messages from Katherine to the Emperor, and his removal was violently protested by Katherine, who swore she could not do without him. But Katherine’s howls became muffled under the tempest of trouble George brought home with his baggage.
“I suspect much,” he said.
“Of what and whom? The French?”
“Not of foes far away,” said George, “but those closer to home.” He leaned close. “Cromwell told Norfolk and me not to allow any compromise in our negotiations,” he whispered. “That intractability meant that negotiations could go nowhere. The talks broke down.”
“And you blame Cromwell? He must have been acting on Henry’s orders. You must understand, brother, we cannot sway like the wind. The French must accept Elizabeth. To do otherwise would imperil my position and hers.”
“That I understand,” he said. “But there was no room for movement, none at all.” He sat back. “I think we were set up to fail.”
“For what purpose?”
“I do not know, but I think Cromwell has asked the King not to send me to France again,” he said. “Cromwell desires alliance with Spain. The Emperor has proved himself the stronger man, and the more dangerous enemy. Cromwell whispers into the King’s ear, Anne. Norris and Weston have told me as much. He set us up to fail. He influenced the King to allow no room for negotiation, for he knew that when our talks failed with France the King would have to listen to him about Spain.”
A chilly hand drew a finger down my spine. Never had I felt more insecure. I had tried to push Henry towards the Schmalkalden League, but they were nowhere near as powerful as either of these other countries, and however many reformers there were in the world, they did not wield the power that François and Charles did.
“But,” I said. “Cromwell must understand that the Emperor will never accept me, and Charles of Spain wailed as loud as any about Fisher’s death. He will be no friend to England.”
“Not whilst Katherine lives,” said my brother with a pointed glance.
“You think Cromwell would kill her?”
My brother said nothing, but I was sure that was what he thought. “I cannot act as ambassador whilst secret impulses are kept from me,” he said. “François would not allow me to see him, and he has made it clear that our friendship, such as it was, no longer exists.”
“Curse François!” I shouted. “And curse Cromwell too if he set you up to fail, brother!”
“Anne, have a care,” warned my brother.
“My ladies are loyal, they will say nothing.”
“At court, everything has ears,” he said, reminding me of Agnes, who had said something similar some time ago.
“I will call him here,” I went on, ignoring my brother’s concerns. “I will have the truth.”
George could not reason with me, and left on other business. When he had gone, I had Cromwell brought to me. “Was my brother sent on a fool’s errand?” I asked as Cromwell entered. “Did you send him to France knowing the negotiations would fail?”
“Majesty…” Cromwell sounded shocked. “… Why would I do such a thing? It would endanger the very cause we work for.”
“That it would,” I said, a dangerous note in my voice. “Test me not, Cromwell. For many years I have considered you a friend, but if I find you have turned from me, you will regret it.”
A sheen of sweat glimmered on his top lip. “Majesty,” he said. “I know not what cause you have to be furious with me.”
“What cause indeed?” I asked. “You are one of those, I come to think, who manages to keep a still water upon a raging flow of thought and deed, Master Cromwell. You come to me with eyes as wide as a maiden’s, speaking of innocence. And yet I wonder… I wonder if you are my friend.”
“If we allowed any slack in our dealings with France, François would pull the rope from our grasp,” he said. “Majesty, these demands were made to uphold the status of the Princess and you, as Queen. Your brother is a skilled negotiator. If any had chance of success, it was he.”
“Have you told the King not to send George to France again?”
Cromwell bowed his head. “I have, but not for dark designs, Majesty. François is, at present, alienated from reformers. He knows your sympathies and those of your brother, so I do not believe it is in our interests to send Lord Rochford to France for a while.”
“And what else is in our interests?” I asked, my tone scathing. Was there another reason Cromwell did not want my brother to shine? For a long time Cromwell had been manoeuvring himself into the position of Henry’s greatest confidant and companion. George was beloved by Henry. Was it possible Cromwell did not want him so close? Cromwell had become rich in the service of the King, and he liked money. Did he want all favours to go to him, rather than others?
I stared at him. “Test me not, old friend,” I said again. “This is not the time to go against me. The King is fast removing those who would deny his power. Think not that I will hesitate to do the same.”
Cromwell’s watchful eyes seemed hollow in his great head. “I would never think of doing such a thing, Majesty.”
“Keep that in mind, then, as you go about your day,” I said. “Heads are rolling, Cromwell. Do not seek to join those who would defy their masters.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Windsor Castle and Reading
July 1535
On the first day of July, Thomas More stood before a jury of his peers in Westminster Hall, accused of treason.
The charges were related to More’s violation of the statutes of the King’s supremacy. It was called malicious silence, which I am sure brought grim mirth to this man of wit. He was further accused of conspiring with Fisher.
Henry, not wanting to be in London as his old friend was tried, was preparing for a summer progress. This preparation also meant he was already certain More would die. I should have noted the cold, calculated distance he put between his old friend and himself, but I did not.
My brother, father, Thomas Audley, the Chancellor, and Norfolk all sat as More’s judges. When a case came to court, it was up to the jury to confirm accusations. Innocence was to be proved by the accused, it was not assumed. If anything, the opposite was true.
Thomas More stuck fast to the old legal defence of qui tacet consentire videtur, one who keeps silent is said to agree; he refused to directly answer any questions about the supremacy. As long as he did not deny the supremacy, he thought there was hope.
But there was not.
Richard Rich was the Crown’s main witness. Rich described a conv
ersation he had had with More when he and two of Cromwell’s men had confiscated More’s books. Rich stated that he had put to More that the King was the Head of the Church in England, and More had denied this. “A king can be made by Parliament, and deprived by Parliament,” Rich attested More had said. “But as to the primacy, a subject cannot be bound because he cannot give his consent to that of Parliament.”
More declared that Rich was lying. “In good faith, Master Rich,” he said loudly. “I am more sorry for your perjury than for my peril.” He shook his head. “Richard Rich was always reputed light of his tongue,” he said. “He is a great dicer and gamester, and not of any commendable fame.”
More acquitted himself well, claiming Rich had wilfully misunderstood him, and, wondering aloud why he would impart his opinion to Rich, and Rich alone, when he had not spoken of the supremacy to any other man, not even a friend. “I refer it to your judgements, my lords, whether this can seem credible to any of your lordships,” he said.
But for all this, it took less than fifteen minutes for the judges to decide their sentence.
More was condemned to die, sentenced to hanging, drawing and quartering. As he heard the sentence read, he spoke. “Since I am condemned, and God knows how, I will speak freely for the discharge of my conscience what I think of this law.”
No one wanted him to, but he had the right to answer. “For the seven long years I have studied the matter, I have not read any approved order of the Church that a temporal lord could, or ought, to be head of the spirituality.”
Audley cut in. “What?” he shouted, afraid that More’s words would get back to Henry. “You wish to be considered wiser, or of better conscience than all the bishops and nobles of this realm, who agreed with the King’s rights?”
“My lord,” More replied in a calm voice. “For one bishop of your opinion, I have one hundred saints for mine. For one Parliament of yours, I have all the General Councils for a thousand years, and for one kingdom I have France and all the kingdoms of Christendom.”
“Your malice against His Majesty is now perfectly clear,” Norfolk bleated.
“Noble sir,” replied More. “Not any malice or obstinacy causes me to say this, but the just necessity of the cause constrains me for the discharge of my conscience and the satisfaction of my soul. I say further that your statute is ill-made, because you have sworn never to do anything against the Church, which through all Christendom is one and undivided. You have no authority, without the common consent of all Christians, to make a law or Act of Parliament, or Council against the honour of Christendom.”
More drew himself up. “I know well the reason why you have condemned me is because I have never been willing to consent to the King’s second marriage, but I hope in the divine goodness and mercy, that as St Paul and St Stephen are now friends in Paradise, where once they were enemies, so we, though differing in this world, shall be united in perfect harmony in the other.”
More glanced about the packed chamber, sticky in the July heat. “I pray to God to protect the King,” he said. “And give him good counsel.”
Clearly, good counsel was not what More believed Henry had.
As he was led from the room, the axes of Henry’s guards turned towards him, showing his fate. His daughter, Margaret, pushed through the crowds to embrace him, falling into her father’s arms with a sob.
George’s father-in-law, Lord Morely, came begging for More’s life. He petitioned Henry to pardon his friend and fellow scholar. He was sent away.
That same day, I had another visit from George. “Cromwell has been throwing his weight around again,” he said. “He rebuked Lord Lisle for the forfeiture of some wool by merchants in the Cinque Ports. Lisle was most surprised, for I have jurisdiction there as Lord Warden, and in such matters, Lisle reports to me, not Cromwell.”
“So why did Cromwell interfere?”
“Because he wants all suits to the King to go through him,” said George. “That can be the only reason. Lisle protested that I would have done the same as him, and he was right. Cromwell was angry that Lisle had not sought his approval, but Lisle did not require Cromwell’s authority, only mine.”
“This sounds like a squabble amongst boys at a river bank trying to prove whose stick came from under the bridge first.”
“Perhaps it does,” said my brother. “But it is just another way Cromwell seeks to undermine me and all others. I will not stand for it. Norris says Cromwell frequently tries to send him away, so that only he is with the King. He seeks to isolate the King, move him away from his friends, and ensure that all suits for favours go through him. Soon, the greedy spider will have a leg on every silken strand, with the King in the centre of his web, as his big, fat prize.”
After More’s trial, with George’s warnings about Cromwell in mind, I petitioned Henry to give More’s property to my brother. George needed the money, for he was always in debt. It mattered not how many titles and positions my brother held, money slipped through his fingers like sand.
Henry agreed that the bulk of More’s wealth would go to George, and Cromwell was unhappy about it.
“It will teach him not to overreach his position,” I said to my brother after he had been informed.
“Perhaps,” said my brother. “Or perhaps it will push him to further action.”
“He has been of use to us for many years,” I said. “I do not wish to think that Cromwell has joined the ranks of our foes.”
“I do not think he has, yet,” said my brother. “But he has grown plump and rich on all the King has granted him, and once a man knows the comfort of a full belly and purse, he does not surrender them lightly.”
My brother gazed about at the cases and chests being packed for progress. Henry wanted to leave London the day before More was due to be executed. “You are taking everything in the palace,” my brother jested.
“Almost,” I agreed.
“You leave on the morrow?”
I nodded. “First to Reading and from there we travel west.”
“Cromwell goes with you?”
“He will join us later, if he can tear himself from London.”
“Keep an eye on him, Anne,” said George. “I thank you for speaking to him last month, but as I understand it, he told Chapuys afterwards that you had threatened him and he was not afraid.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Cromwell thinks I may be overlooked?”
“He said the King would protect him against any foe,” said my brother. “Even if that enemy be his own wife.”
“Did he?” I asked. “Cromwell grows too confident. If this man needs reminding that all he has comes from me, I will nudge his memory.”
That night, we sat with Cromwell as he went over some of the reports from the abbeys. Henry was disturbed by them.
“All this will be set right, my lord,” I said. “And let us use our time of pleasure for other purposes.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let us visit those who support you and the necessity of reform,” I said. “We will go to towns that have already shown loyalty, and in showing grace to them, we will encourage more to do likewise.” I looked at Cromwell. “And, at the same time,” I went on. “We will visit some of the houses listed in these reports. Long have they had no master to oversee them, but this will change.”
“I think this a fine notion, my lord,” said Cromwell. “If abbots and monks see their King in the flesh it will remind them of their duty to God.”
My reasons for sending Henry to monasteries were not quite as I had said. I hoped that if Cromwell’s reports were true, Henry visiting their houses might encourage better behaviour, and if the reports were embellished, it might persuade Cromwell’s men to have a care, and report only the truth.
“We should also release any who took holy vows before the age of twenty-five,” said Cromwell. “Only those with true dedication should serve God. Too often, poor people send unwanted children to the cloisters. This should end.”
With the new route of progress agreed, the court was informed and those who had been chosen to play host were sent messages. This did not sail by unnoticed, and it earned me some powerful enemies. They thought that I instigated Henry’s reforms in all ways. If only such were true! But everyone could see I influenced Henry. They saw my power.
They feared it, as they feared me.
*